Saints Row L'amour, le Feu, le Ciel, et le Désir

**Disclaimer:** Volition and Deep Silver are the owners, I'm just having fun playing around in their sandbox.

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**Chapter One Notes:** The setup for this chapter is pretty much just porn. And some love. Because I could. And also, these two shits won't see each other for a good chunk of the following chapters.

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Fray is a beautiful woman. No, "_beautiful_" does not do her justice. Matt sees her and every nerve ending jolts. His heart beats for her, and he means that in every sense; if she only asked, he would cut it out of his chest and lay it in her hands. He also knows that, if _he_ only asked, she would do the same.

Luckily, they both realize that their hearts serve a far better use pumping blood within their chests and find other ways of showing their devotion. Less gory, more scintillating. Though scintillating does have a way of making Matt feel as if his circulatory system has a big hiccup in it. Like right now, for instance.

Fray is in the middle of their gigantic bed, sitting on her knees, blindfolded, and hands bound behind her back. The cuffs are well-padded leather trimmed in lace; a perfect match for the blindfold, the silk thigh-high stockings with their lace tops, satin garter belt, and polished platform pumps. All black of course; they have to have a precise contrast for the downy white duvet beneath her. She's ready, waiting, and utterly beautiful.

Though Matt would still say that Fray was gorgeous covered in blood and entrails. She's his, how could she possibly be anything other than breathtaking?

Reluctantly, he tears his eyes from his girlfriend's prone (and otherwise nude) form to go over to the equipment that he's laid out on the raised cabinets beside the bed. A vibrator, one vibrating plug, a large tube of self-warming cinnamon-vanilla slick, and a bucket of ice. His leather gloves, boots, and jeans might be considered part of the toolkit, given how Fray loves the feel of them and had requested them specifically. Matt's not _that_ much of a nitpicker though, and besides, there are more important things to occupy him at the moment. Well, one thing but Fray is the most important of all things _all_ of the time as far as he's concerned so.

Sliding the slick into his back pocket, Matt turns back to the bed. He observes his girlfriend; it is delicious to watch the subtle shifting she does while listening for him. He doesn't have to imagine how blissfully maddening it is, to be exposed to the bone and resting in someone else's hands; they swap these current spots quite often. Honestly, Matt isn't sure which side of the coin he likes more.

The smooth, elegant curve of Fray's neck bobs as he crawls onto the duvet. Mirroring her position, he does nothing for a moment, content to drink in the lines of her body. Matt could spend the rest of his life simply staring at Fray, counting her freckles and listening her breathe. That's how he knows that this is love.

It feels almost like sacrilege to disturb the picture that she makes. Like smearing paint in the wrong direction. But then, Matt supposes that it can only mean that it's up to him to compose a prettier scene.

He has a few ideas.

Fray shudders as he finally initiates, placing both palms on her knees. Matt curls his fingers into her flesh, not quite as hard as he could but with inarguable firmness; she has to be paying attention, after all. Flexing and un-flexing each knuckle, he then drags his hands up her knees to her thighs and from there her hips. Cupping her hips, Matt's hands remain there for a moment, thumbs rubbing soft circles over the "V" that the bones make. Her breath shakes ever so slightly as a more potent pink flushes across her skin.

Slowly, Matt relinquishes his hold on her hips and moves upward. Sliding up her sides to her breasts, he takes a moment to appreciate what's before him. Fray's breasts aren't particularly pillowy but they _are_ perky and her nipples are delicious little copper puffs. Cherries on a sundae comes to mind whenever he sees his girlfriend's nipples, though he's certainly never told _her_ that. Fray loves him and all, but when it sounds ridiculous in his own head, rule of thumb says to keep it there.

Though that doesn't stop Matt from thinking it as he cups her breasts and dips his head down to them. At this angle, he can't see her face but he can feel her taking that plump lower lip between her teeth as he presses his lips to the center of her chest then drags his tongue across the swell to her nipple. He laves her areola, kisses it, and gently sucks before adding the edge of his teeth. Fray whines deep in her throat as he nibbles around the nipple and she cries outright when he tugs it between sharp incisors. That high, breathy non-sound is probably Matt's favorite thing in the world.

Kissing the underside of each breast, Matt moves on with his work and slides his palms up to Fray's collarbone. He isn't comfortable wrapping both hands around her throat; it's triggery for him, bringing to mind the vice Killbane's thick fingers made around Kiki's thin neck. While Matt has sincere doubts that even both of his hands could do anything other than bruise Fray, he knows that she understands when he bypasses her neck altogether and instead takes hold of her jaw.

He tilts her head up and she lets him. There is not an ounce of resistance in her warm, pliant muscles—_that_ is how much she trusts him. Matt traces her lip-line with his thumb and Fray opens her mouth just a bit wider. Taking the invitation, he slips his thumb between her lips and she sucks it like she would the head of his cock, swirling her tongue against the soft leather, careful of her teeth. Matt has to bite back a groan and resist tearing off his gloves; this is for _her_, after all.

But Matt _is_ only human, so he withdraws his thumb only to replace it with his tongue. He kisses her hard, swallowing her little squeak of surprise and pulling her into him. One hand tangles in her hair while the other slips down her back to the perfect curve of her ass. He runs his hand across her bottom before settling on the right cheek and squeezing. She yelps and moans again as Matt digs in with just enough force to leave a bruise.

Chest to chest, Fray's pebbled nipples are still slick with his saliva, and he feels it as she arches into him. Again, Matt has to remind himself to stay on track. With much effort he pulls back, putting at least half a foot of cool air between them.

"What do we say when we want to stop?" They both know the rules but just like Fray always pauses to remind him when their positions are reversed, Matt does the same for her.

"Red," Fray answers in a breathy rasp through kiss-bruised lips that she licks right after. Matt shivers; he adores that mouth and all of the things that it can do.

"Good girl." His voice is far, far, more controlled than he actually feels. "And when you aren't sure, when you want to ask a question?"

"Yellow."

"Good. And what do we say when you're ready to start back up?"

"Green."

"Good." Matt reaches out and runs the back of his hand down the side of her neck, trailing it slowly down between her breasts, to her navel, just shy of her cunt. "And what are we right now, sweetheart?"

"_Green_." The word comes out choked, almost a sob as her hips buck forward, a silent plea for his hand to wander farther. "I'm Green."

An electric trill runs down Matt's backbone and straight around to his cock. It isn't so much from holding power over his somewhat-invincible girlfriend, there's some there, sure. Mostly though, it's simply knowing that he does _this_ to her, that she's visibly wet and wanting even though he's barely done anything besides kiss her.

He kisses her again, softly, just a quick press of his mouth to hers, though he would certainly like to have more. Matt curbs his own enthusiasm however, and pulls back even as the seam of Fray's lips parts and that first hint of her tongue slithers out to find his. Something high and needy rises in her throat but doesn't quite make it out as he slinks behind her.

A quick examination of the cuffs is in order before he moves on. They're fairly strong for bonds that don't use metal, but considering he's seen Fray (or rather footage _of_ Fray) snapping the heavy-duty, S.W.A.T.-issue kind apart, he highly doubts that these will hold her if she tests them with any real strength. That's all part of the fun though.

Matt has a certain strange—or perhaps not so strange—adoration for his girlfriend's back. It isn't her ass (though that is indeed perfect if he does say so himself), but the curve of her spine that always makes him ache. Fray has a ramrod for a backbone, strong, straight, and yet in a breath it's fluid, bending into an almost perfect "U", or curling into a knot. He worships that magnificent column now, pushing her hair out of the way so he can chart it with his mouth.

His lips, with the occasional assist from teeth and tongue, travel from the base of her skull all the way to the little divot of her tailbone. Fray whimpers and squirms just enough to add a thin patina of sweat to the path. The salt of sweat and the sweetness of her freckled skin combine deliciously against Matt's tongue; he can't get enough.

He nips the right cheek before straightening up and pulling Fray's back to his front. A yelp escapes her that morphs into a moan halfway out. Firmly but not roughly, Matt slides one knee between her legs, a silent order for her to spread. She complies, and Matt wedges both knees between Fray's thighs. The new position throws her off balance and she has no other choice but to lean back into him. Matt accepts her weight, adjusts accordingly, and slides his arms around her as he nuzzles her ear.

On the wall opposite their bed, he's brought in a large mirror. He takes in their reflection, Fray's flushed milky-olive complexion and her lithe frame prone in his grasp. His own image, Matt thinks, is nearly unfamiliar. He looks dark, dangerous, even a little unearthly behind his girlfriend, holding her like a possession. It's rather appealing, he decides, watching himself grin as he teases his way down to her exposed cunt.

"You should see you," he whispers into Fray's ear. She shudders as he runs his tongue along the shell. "All opened up and at my mercy. Do you like that, sweetheart? Do you like when I have control?" The line of her throat bobs as she gulps but she doesn't answer. "_Do you_?" He punctuates the last sentence with his teeth and her earlobe.

Fray screams in response. "_Yes!_" Matt can feel the muscles in her legs shivering as she grinds against him; she does love the friction of denim on her skin, it must absolutely drive her mad to have it scraping her cunt. "_God. Fuck yes, Matt_."

He soothes the outburst with a kiss to her temple. It's deceptive; his lips graze her hairline while his leather-clad fingers steal down into her heat. Fray cries out as he pinches her clitoris then dips into her drenched folds.

"Tell me what you want." His words sound more like a coo than a command but she knows what it really is. Two fingers spread her open, stopping just shy of penetration. "Do you want me to go slow?" He pushes his thumb in a languid circle around her clit; Fray chokes and whimpers. "Drag this out for a few hours until you can't breathe? Is that what you want, love?"

"N—No." Ooh, she's stuttering. So close already? Matt might have underestimated what the jeans and the gloves do for her senses with that blindfold on. He can file that away for future reference.

"Mmm…" His other hand slides upward, cupping her left breast. He prods her nipple rolling it between his ring and middle fingers. "What do you want then?"

Her whole body quivers with restraint to keep herself from breaking the rules and bucking into his hand. Matt admires that willpower; he'll enjoy cracking it even more. "I wanna come. _Please_." The last word is tacked on hastily, though not snidely.

He never can refuse her when she begs. Without a word, Matt plunges two fingers in. With as wet as he can see/feel that Fray is, he doesn't bother with being overly gentle; he drives in, straight to the knuckle on the back of his hand. She howls and he drinks it up like wine, feeling vaguely tipsy in its wake.

With all that Matt has planned yet, he doesn't waste time with teasing her. Building a steady, rapid rhythm, he finds that special little spot inside of her with ease. On every inward thrust, he curls his fingers into it and scissors them. Fray doesn't last long.

Especially when he goes back to her ear and asks, "Are you going to come for me, darling?" then sucks on the space right beneath the lobe.

She screams and shakes and Matt is very, very, _very_ glad that he's been so diligent about following Asha into the gym over these last several months. There is no way that he could see himself holding onto Fray now otherwise. He does hold onto her though, as she bucks and shudders and curses and moans, he holds her tight, fucking her with his fingers through the aftershocks until all that she can do is mewl into the crook of his neck.

"Y-yellow," she mumbles against his collarbone. Her cheek feels damp; like she's crying. Matt panics out of instinct until Fray adds, "Can't b-breathe."

"Okay." If the words are to soothe him or her, he can't say. He kisses her with the utmost tenderness as he withdraws and Fray quivers when he does. Matt swallows something high and needy that trickles past her tongue.

For a moment all plans are halted so that he can cradle his girlfriend. He pets her hip, still edgy; Fray calling Yellow has never happened before. Red she's brought up just once, when he'd accidently tripped and yanked her hair on the way down like an idiot.

He moves his lips down her jaw, along her neck, and down to her shoulder, rocking her a little as he counts her breaths. "All right, sweetheart?"

Fray tilts her head back and twists just enough to kiss his Adam's apple. "Yeah. I'm good. Teach me to hold the screams in, right?" She laughs and wriggles down against his lap with renewed—though tremulous—vigor. "Come on, I'll take whatever you got, _Nyteblade_. Green."

Matt does adore how she can stay so snarky even while half-mad from pleasure. One of a thousand reasons that he fell in love with this woman. Still, it's his time to be in charge; he can't just let her get away with it. She'd be disappointed if he did.

Without any warning—or pause to give it a second thought—Matt slides his hand back over Fray's cunt, cupping and driving the gloved heel of his palm down hard against her clitoris. She yelps and moans and twists against him but he holds her fast about her ribcage. He noses the underside of her jaw as her head once again falls back into the hollow of his shoulder, mouthing the sharp line of it.

"Watch it," he warns in a voice that sounds far too low, confident, and coy to possibly be his own. Gripping her chin a little more roughly than he usually would, Matt slides his thumb over those perfect lips. "You're not giving the orders today, sweetheart. Remember that before you get tied to the headboard, yeah?"

A choked non-word slips from Fray as she nods, obedient as a puppy. He can picture her gray-green eyes beneath the mask, all wide and glazed over, dewy with unbidden tears from pleasure. He almost wants to tear the mask off. Almost.

Instead, Matt kisses her and releases the sensitive parts in his grip. "Lay down," he orders as the kiss ends, murmuring the words against her swollen lips. He nips her chin before slithering out of her way. Fray obeys of course. Gently, he guides her to lie flat on her back, making sure that a pillow finds its way beneath her head and her hips. Matt slides between her legs then, placing his palms on either side of her knees and spreading her open.

His mouth waters at the sight of her laid out before him. A brilliant flush pulses beneath Fray's skin, giving a ruddy tint to every inch of her body. In particular her neck, nipples, and especially that space between her thighs. Slick, swollen, and the most delicious shade of rose, the scent and heat intoxicate Matt as he leans in.

Really he should take his time, taunt her more. Ghost his breath along her slit and around her navel. Drive her so crazy with pleasure that she all but forgets everything and everyone in existence except for him.

Impulse control has always been something that Matt has struggled with however, and the way that he feels for Fray does not temper that struggle in the slightest. Every fiber of his being screams to devour the feast before him and he gives in because it seems foolish not to. Besides, he has time yet to drive her mad, he probably shouldn't get ahead of himself.

Fray tastes wonderful, just like honey. And steel. And champagne bubbles. Gunpowder, silk, lemon drops, and the confident purr of her motorcycle. All of these flavors roll and pop across Matt's tongue as he uses it to lap at her folds. Most of all though, Fray tastes like _home,_ and he is addicted.

He brings her to her second orgasm quickly, sucking her clit and curling his fingers inside of her. She shakes even harder and screams even more loudly than before and it's all that Matt can do to hold onto her hips. He licks her clean of her own juices slowly, savoring each whimper and tremor.

Taking a moment to watch his girlfriend after he's satisfied that he's lapped every errant drop of moisture from her cunt, Matt can't stop from patting himself on the back. A galactic time empress doesn't often cry or turn red and sweaty. Fighting and sparring can do the latter but _nothing_ makes Fray sob besides him and only he has ever accomplished both. It's a heady thought, reigning over the ruler of everything. If he didn't love her so much, Matt might abuse that power. He does love her though, more than he's loved anything or anyone that he's known before. If he hurt her, it would destroy him, so he's gentle for self-preservation's sake as much as love's.

He pets the inside of Fray's thigh as he draws the table with his equipment closer with a flick of the remote chip in his wrist. Bless Zin technology. The table slides forward silently and he plucks ice from the bucket. It comes in spheres rather than cubes here; Matt keeps meaning to look into how and why it comes in spheres but he never gets around to it. Probably all of the outrageously good sex he's too busy having.

"You look so hot, darling," he says drawing the ice across the crease of her thigh. Fray yelps in surprise, squirming as if to get away from the sensation but Matt's grip on her hip prevents that. He finds himself grinning like a madman.

"Shh… stop that," he tells her as draws a slippery and indefinable pattern across her pubic bone. "I'm just trying to cool you down so we can go on. You _do_ want to go on, don't you, love?" Illustrating a clearer opening for her to say "Red" Matt does not know how to do. Fray sees it though and as she worries her already raw lower lip, contemplating the option, Matt stops moving the ice.

"Green," she whispers hoarsely after a few moments that actually start to worry Matt. "I'm Green, baby. I promise."

Matt leans in to kiss the center of her chest in response, burrowing his face gratefully between the small, plump mounds of her breasts and tasting her heartbeat. Fray sighs and he sighs, then she yelps as he takes the dwindling sphere and circles it around her left nipple. The flesh pebbles beautifully as Fray cries out to match it. He presses his tongue to the peak, knowing from experience how maddening the dichotomy that he's creating can be. He revels seeing Fray at its mercy.

He only tortures her for a bit, though it surely must seem longer to Fray. There's a moment, as she's squirming beneath him, chest moving up and down so rapidly that Matt fears that they've both overblown her limits and she going to black out. But then she swears and grits his name from between her teeth and all of his worry subsides. Still, it's marker enough to move on and he pushes the ice bucket aside.

"Up," he urges after giving her a moment to breathe. Matt helps her, one hand between her shoulder blades and gently pushing. He undoes the link between her cuffs, just long enough to bring her arms to the front where he refastens the chain. "Come on, love, turn over for me."

She rolls, inelegant, red-faced, and sluggish, but her obedience is flawless nonetheless. Without being told, Fray shuffles onto her knees and elbows, legs splayed, bottom presented. Perfect. Matt brushes a kiss to her spine after rearranging the pillows to support her arms, chest, and head.

Pulling the cinnamon slick from his back pocket, Matt admires the curve of his girlfriend's ass. Renaissance sculptors couldn't create anything more divine, in his (not very) humble opinion. He squeezes each cheek, enjoying the firmness beneath the leather barrier that separates their flesh. Each side gets a light swat as well, and his lover rewards him with a moan.

Sliding his hand between her cheeks, he spreads them and rounds the hole with his thumb. Not one little bit of tension comes as he presses it; Matt's thumb slips past the ring of muscle. Fray prepped beforehand, just as he asked. He kisses her spine again as he uncaps the lubricant and drizzles it onto the rim of her asshole.

"How does that feel?" he asks, testing two fingers against the reddening pucker. They slide in just as his thumb had, perhaps even more easily, with the addition of the slick.

"S'hot." Fray's voice is garbled by the pillow her face is buried against. "Burning. _So good_." She sobs a bit at the last and Matt catches sight of her face, lower lip worried to rawness between her teeth, tears escaping the blindfold. God, he's falling in love all over again.

"Good," he agrees, a little breathless himself, sliding a third finger in. Fray chokes but rocks back as he thrusts, following the rhythm that he begins. She prepped _very_ thoroughly beforehand, enough so that only a few moments later Matt feels comfortable replacing his fingers with the vibrator.

He goes slow, slower than what Fray would like—if he's judging by her wriggling and high pitched whines. Both because he wants to be careful and because he just adores watching her unravel anew. Inch by inch, Matt presses the toy in and then drags it out to the tip. Her pucker glistens, clenching around the silicone, struggling to keep it inside. High, throaty keens that the sheets can't muffle fill the room. Lilting with each flick of his wrist, Fray's cries are the kind of melody that Matt's sure he could never tire of.

Climax number three takes them both by surprise. Lost in the sight and sound before him, Matt misses the telltale twitch of Fray's thighs. All he gets as a warning before she's a juddering mess is the garbled first half of his name. Matt holds her steady—or as steady as he possibly can—one hand pressing against her tailbone as she twitches and cries.

She collapses once the orgasm has passed, legs inelegantly splayed and twitching, sides heaving and with every rapid, deep breath as if she's just run a marathon. Every inch of Fray is bright pink except her cunt and her lips, those are red, the latter might even be a little bloody from where she's been pulling them between her teeth. Only a thin gray-green line of her iris exists when he slips down to lift the mask and examine her face; her pupils are blown like a junkie's would be after a getting a fix.

Matt smirks to himself as he strokes Fray's hair, pushing it away from her very flushed face. Being her addiction, being something she can't live without. She certainly is to him.

Patiently, Matt waits until her breathing has lightened up and she can focus on him. He plucks a bit of ice from the bucket and runs it across her swollen lips. It wakes her up a little more and her tongue darts out, lapping the cool moisture.

"Red?" he asks tentatively, placing the ice in her mouth. Fray shakes her head as she chews it up. He grabs another piece and rubs it along her forehead.

"Just Yellow for a minute," she tells him after swallowing. Her eyes aren't so strung-out now as she smiles. "We can't be done until your cock is in me."

Matt laughs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Mmm…Your standards are pretty brilliant."

"Tell me something that I don't know."

"Shush." He kisses her again, more firmly, before settling the mask back in place and resuming his position at her backside.

While he waits for Fray to say "Green" Matt prepares their last toy. They've only played with the vibrating plug once; Fray tied him to the bed and worked it into him while he had a cock ring on. She left him writhing and sobbing for release for _hours_. Okay, maybe not hours, but it was a bloody long time. Excruciating-exquisiteness would probably be the best way to describe it, and while he thinks he's probably provided Fray with a lot of that already, Matt's also very much of the opinion that he could show her more.

She looks back when he turns it on. Matt smirks, making a show of drowning it in that self-warming lube that Fray loves so much.

"What do you think, darling?" he asks as he twirls it under a steady stream of slick. "Should I put this in your ass just like you did to me? Stretch you open and make you numb while I fuck your cunt?" He pushes her open and presses the plug to the sensitive space between her pussy and ass. Fray sobs and he grinds it against her more firmly. "Come on, tell me where you want it."

Matt doesn't know when she broke the handcuffs; honestly, he has some sincere doubts that in this sex-drunk state, Fray realizes she's even done it. What Matt does know is that he he'll have to look into something sturdier than leather for next time though. In the meanwhile, he focuses on what Fray's telling him as she slides a newly-freed hand between her legs and spreads her cunt open.

His mouth waters all over again. "If that's what you want. Green?"

"Green," Fray agrees, voice barely even a whisper. That's all Matt needs to hear; he buries the plug straight to its base in one fluid slip of his wrist. A strangled cry breaks from Fray as she collapses forward yet again. It's not totally awkward and inarticulate; her ass goes up, perfectly positioned before him.

It's funny, Matt thinks, the way that his own arousal disappears from the periphery while he's focused on his girlfriend. He feels it now though; his cock pulses painfully in his jeans, even more painfully when he takes it in his glove and slicks it up. The lubricant burns and tingles like an electric shock. Relief can only come one way.

He doesn't bother with teasing Fray, dragging the head of his cock against her hole or any dry friction. They've played enough, she's prepared, he's hard, and the game had to end sometime.

Fray's insides are molten around him as he slides home. She's loose enough that he doesn't have any resistance but she is _tight_. She has a stranglehold, pulling him in, and he has to briefly wonder if she will ever let him go. He hopes not.

"Fuck you feel so good," he whispers as he bottoms out. Fray whimpers something unintelligible into the pillow beneath her and he rubs his thumbs along her hip bones, relinquishing the bruising grip he has on them. More marks to kiss come the morning. He can't wait. Really, he can't.

Another noise, frantic, parched, insatiable, comes as Matt rocks into her. He kisses her spine as he moves up, his stomach molding to her backbone. The need to feel every possible inch of her skin on his is a fever. He braces his weight on the mattress above her head; Fray's hand is already there, waiting, and they link their fingers into a fist in the sheets.

He bites and kisses her shoulder, savoring the freckles that his lips brush. "Shit, you have no idea what you do to me." The hand that had stayed on her thigh smooths up her side, palming her breasts before slithering back down to the apex of her thighs. He can feel an electric current of too-much and pure want the gloved fingers he plies against the slippery, swollen nub of her clitoris.

Fray's head finally comes out of the pillows when he starts to stroke. A breathless sob-scream is swallowed as Matt covers her mouth with his own. Not a neat kiss by any means but what it lacks in grace it makes up for in need, which is still perfect.

Her face is damp with sweat and tears. Matt wants to devour every drop but refrains due to both the angle and his impending orgasm. Something to do later at least. For now, he focuses on bringing her off one last time, so they can have at least one together.

"I love you," he whispers against her temple. He rubs more insistently, squeezing her clitoris between his knuckles. "I love you, do you hear me? Do you fucking hear me, Feray?!"

The syllables work like a key, just as Matt knew they would. Fray's never said as much but he knows that she loves when he says her real name. It's an intimacy permitted by no one else and Matt relishes it.

Fray comes a fourth time screaming something that sounds like "yes" but, given that he so closely follows her swan dive into bliss himself, he really couldn't say. It doesn't matter. All that matters for Matt is the white-hot explosion in the depths of his belly, turning off all sounds except the pulse of him in-sync with the pulse of her.

Consciousness doesn't leave Matt and he has enough willpower left to keep himself from just collapsing on top of Fray. It's hard though. There is absolutely nothing more appealing than falling asleep still inside of his girlfriend after this kind of lovemaking. Unfortunately, he needs to get that plug out of her before Fray loses her mind and see to cleaning them both up. Maybe it isn't unfortunate at all, he does adore giving aftercare as much as if not more the rough-play that precedes it.

He kisses the back of Fray's neck as he switches the plug off. Gently as he possibly can, Matt removes it and a noise of relief comes from deep in her throat. Another kiss to her spine as he tosses the toy into the cleaning bin where the vibrator is already and where his gloves will soon be joining them.

Pulling the mask away, he urges Fray onto her back one last time. She blinks up at him, eyes glazed but not wholly unfocused, and smiles. Matt leans over her, framing her face with his hands, searching her flushed, sweaty, face for any signs of discomfort. Contentment is the only thing he can find. Her arms slide around his neck, silently demanding that he meet her. As if he could resist, especially when her lips are so red and kissable.

"I love you too," she murmurs, mouth to mouth, and it's almost enough to get Matt hard again. Almost. Refractory period in consideration, he settles for kissing her hard and deep.

"Hey now," he says as her legs start winding around his waist. "We need to get cleaned up, yeah?" Not that he wouldn't adore loitering; having Fray coiled around him is pretty much Matt's favorite thing in existence. However, it just isn't practical to lay there in the mess of lube and bodily fluids.

Fray sighs but relinquishes her grip on his lower half. The rules are that he's in control until he says when and Fray won't break them. Matt rewards her obedience with another, softer kiss before righting himself.

He un-cuffs her, as much as he can with the bonds being broken anyway. Fray giggles as he stares at the tattered leather stays, shrugging beneath his raised eyebrow. They go into the trash; he'll have to speak to Zinjai about getting a professional to personally tailor the next ones. Fray's shoes go next, laid down carefully on the far edge of their enormous bed; post-coital haze or no, she will not tolerate him flinging her insanely expensive heels about. Unsnapping the stockings from her garter belt Matt rolls them off for her and then helps her to shimmy out of the belt itself. They, along with his gloves, boots, and jeans, end up in a not too-neat pile on the floor.

"Do you want more ice?" he asks, petting her thigh as he climbs up off the bed. His hands feel just a little strange outside of the leather frame.

Fray shakes her head. "I'm good, baby."

He nods. "Right. Back shortly." And he kisses her forehead before swiping his phone off of the night stand.

Before they had even started, Matt had set the house AI for a few tasks and to alert the servants to bring some necessary items to the master bathroom. He finds his specifications met, as always. The candles are set up, the bath has been drawn, and the tray of fresh fruits and chocolate has been sent up complete with a pitcher of lavender-blueberry lemonade (Fray's favorite drink that doesn't involve alcohol).

He tests the water with one hand while the other punches in the order code for the servants to come and clean up the bedroom in exactly ten minutes. Frothing lightly with chamomile oil and violets, it's skin temperature in warmth. Perfect for a cool-down after some very exhausting and very good sex. It won't change until he or Fray puts in the order; bless Zin technology. He has no idea how he lived before temperature-controlled Jacuzzi baths. Quite frankly, Matt would rather not remember.

Fray is sitting upright when he returns. Well, mostly upright; she looks like she's fighting off sleep, half-slumped to the side as she waits for him. Matt wonders if it's wrong of him to so adore when his girlfriend is incapacitated and needs help to stand and his arm about her waist to get to the bathroom. He decides it doesn't matter, what with Fray purring against his collarbone she is apparently content to need him.

He helps her into the bath, moves the tray within arm's reach, and even pours her a glass of the lemonade. She accepts the drink but frowns as she takes it. "Aren't you joining me?" she asks.

"I am, I just need to grab something real quick," he says.

Fray's nose wrinkles fondly at him as she takes a drink. "Okay, but you better hurry. If I fall asleep and drown in this tub, you're gonna have to go to that party all by your lonesome."

Matt sticks out his tongue. "If that's the choice I'd drown myself right after."

"Behave."

"I'll think about it." He kisses her quick but soft.

Fray giggles. "I mean it, hurry up. I'm falling asleep here and we haven't snuggled, Matt!"

"As the Empress Commands." She laughs again as he throws in a dramatic bow.

"Fucking right," comes at his back as he darts back into their bedroom.

Out of sight, Matt's pulse starts to hammer harder than it did while he was inside of Fray. His legs are on autopilot, going in a b-line for the stand on his side of the bed. Impulse twists his gut, his hands shake a little as he opens the bottom drawer and pulls a dark gray metal box from it. He swipes his thumb against the lock, waiting as it scans. Inside another box, already open, winks with its prize.

He was drunk when he bought the ring, and at the time he hadn't thought it would become such a symbol. She'll like it, he remembers reasoning that much. Platinum set with diamonds and an exquisitely cut amethyst Fleur de Lis, perfect for his Fray.

Perfect. And that's when he realized he couldn't just give it to her as a bauble. Matt had known since before Zinyak was dead, that he was intent on spending the rest of his life with Fray. The gravity of what that meant just hadn't smacked him until he had that ring and was picturing sliding it on her finger.

He's been hemming and hawing on it for a good two months now, waiting for a perfect moment. While Matt isn't completely sure that today might be perfect it has been good. Really good. And it would have the bonus effect of Kinzie probably being a little less frigid at the party tonight.

Matt sucks in a deep breath. This is it. He's going to do this. He's going to ask the most important question of his life.

Fray is asleep when he comes back into the bathroom. Head lulled to the side, mouth open as soft, shallow breaths escape, she is _out_. His hopes plummet; only a monster would disturb her.

Holding back a sigh, Matt returns the ring to his lock box and then makes his way to the bathroom yet again. Fray doesn't stir much as he slips into the water, but she smiles faintly and curls into him when he gets close enough.

Maybe it isn't what he pictured but this is nice. No, it's wonderful. The ring is still there, they're still in love—he just needs a moment to offer it to her while Fray is actually awake.

Matt smiles against the top of Fray's head. They _are_ going to a party tonight, even if it is for Kinzie. The showmanship of the classic dropping-to-one-knee in front of all of their friends, is something he's sure that she'll appreciate. Certainly worth risking the ire of Kinzie, or at least it will be once he hears Fray say "yes."


End file.

Saints Row, Romance, Sci-Fi